Doomsday Can Wait (Phoenix Chronicles, #2)(10)

"I still wonder why Sawyer had to conjure his mother," Summer mused a few minutes later.

"Considering that he goes on an annual 'Kill my mother' hunt, I don't think they bonded well."

"He never did get over her murdering his father."

"Yeah, he's funny that way," I said.

Summer cast me an exasperated glance. "What I'm getting at is, why conjure her? She's flesh and blood, not a spirit."

"Was she always? Flesh and blood, I mean? A Naye'i is an evil spirit."

"The Nephilim were called evil spirits down through the ages, but it doesn't mean 'spirit,' like a ghost. Just..." Summer lifted one hand from the steering wheel and turned it palm up. "Spirit of evil."

"And we're right back to why he conjured her."

I guessed I'd just have to break down and ask him.

*

We traveled all night. Fairies didn't appear to need any sleep. Since I did, I conked out well before St. Louis.

Dawn over the Ozark Mountains is a beautiful thing. The mist hangs heavy on the hills, causing the streaks of sunlight creeping across the peaks to turn every shade of crimson and gold.

The sight made me want to save the world all over again. After viewing a sunrise like that, who wouldn't want to go out and kick some half-demon ass?

Except we were here to find Jimmy, learn the names of the remaining seers, do whatever it was that needed doing to get him back on the job. I wasn't certain I was up to that. I'd never been much of a psychologist. And Jimmy definitely needed his head shrunk, or a nice padded cell.

Or a hug. I wasn't sure which.

We reached Barnaby's Gap in the afternoon, much later than I'd planned. Despite Summer's fairytude, we'd gotten lost, floundered around, backtracked, wasted time.

The town was old, had probably been there since long before the Civil War. In the past, the Ozarks had been a hotbed for mining, but as is the case with most mines, the ore ran out. The towns that had sprung up to meet the needs of the industry either died or found a new livelihood.

Most of the Ozark settlements had recently begun to court the boom of tourism brought about by the success of Branson. Barnaby's Gap had not. Couldn't say that I blamed them. Why mar the spectacular view with a bevy of condos, complete with swimming pools, tennis courts, workout facilities, and spa? Why commercialize the main street with shops full of candles, holiday decorations, antiques, crafts, and candy?

They'd no doubt survived without catering to the masses because of the impressive sawmill we'd passed on the way in. I was certain the majority of the citizenry worked there while the minority made their living on the sidewalk-lined streets where family-owned businesses catered to kith and kin. We rolled past a grocer, doctor, pharmacy, and—yippee and yahoo!—a coffee shop.

"Coffee," I croaked, pointing.

My croak must have tipped Summer off to the necessity of said coffee because the Impala coasted to a stop at the curb, and she followed me inside without argument.

The place was nearly empty this late in the day. We didn't have to contend with tourists sipping their four-dollar brews and reading the most recent New York Times bestseller or the romance novel they wouldn't be caught dead opening back home.

I ordered a large Mountain Roast from an overly pale young woman who seemed extremely jumpy. She started when I ordered, as if I'd spoken too loud, then dropped my change, flinching when the coins pinged against the countertop. She'd had way too much Breakfast Blend.

I slugged several sips in quick succession before I turned away from the register.

Summer eyed me with interest. "Do you have asbestos mouth?"

"Excuse me?"

"Most humans would burn their mouths."

I wasn't most humans, wasn't even sure just how human I was. But I'd been able to drink really hot coffee without burning my mouth even before I'd become su-perpsychic hero girl.

I shrugged. "I'm used to it."

Summer strolled to an empty table. Her outfit seemed less conspicuous here, or maybe I was just getting used to that, too.

"Now what?" I asked. "We wait around until Jimmy shows up for the parade?"

"I don't think so." Her gaze was fixed on the wide front window that overlooked the main drag of Barnaby's Gap.

The street was deserted. I started to get uneasy. Sure, this place wasn't a tourist trap, but there should be someone moving around.

"Come on," she said.

We walked along the sidewalk, peeking into each storefront. All the places were open, the employees doing their jobs, but everyone was twitchy. When we appeared in the window, they'd start, glance up with wide eyes, then just as quickly look away. I didn't like it one bit.

Up ahead an elderly man shuffled toward us—tall and thin, with snow-white hair. He was dressed well, not a street person, though the way he hunched his shoulders and mumbled to himself reminded me of many I'd seen. As he neared, his words drifted to us on the sultry afternoon breeze.

"Red eyes,'* he intoned. "Teeth and blood. Demon in the hills. Demon in the caves."

I guess that explained the overcaffeinated conduct of the populace.

I immediately crossed in front of Summer and set my hand on the man's shoulder.

For the most part, strong emotions—fear, love, hate—transmitted, giving me a view of the situations surrounding them. Since the guy was nearly scared witless, I got smacked with so many images I staggered.